


Darling, Save The Lap Dance For Me

by WingsforWinter



Series: 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angsty Dean, Attempt at Humor, Charlie Bradbury & Dean Winchester Friendship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Supportive Charlie, Supportive Sam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-18
Updated: 2014-06-18
Packaged: 2018-02-05 04:09:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsforWinter/pseuds/WingsforWinter
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Charlie drag a newly Out Dean to a male strip club to loosen him up a little.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Darling, Save The Lap Dance For Me

**Author's Note:**

> Half way done! 
> 
> Day 15 of the [30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge](http://ghiraher.tumblr.com/post/37135733342/30-day-cheesy-tropes-challenge)
> 
> Number 14: Stripper AU!

 

 

 

 

Dean was drunk. So drunk, in fact, that he let Charlie and Sam talk him into visiting a male strip club.

 

Ever since he came out they’ve been pressuring him to start dating, find a boyfriend (C’mon, Dean. At least _look_ )… But Dean was still firmly rooted in his old ways. Frankly, he was shit-scared of being gay.

 

Sure he could admit that he liked dick to the few people closest to him, but he couldn’t just turn off 30 years of repression and guilt in a few weeks. Every time he so much as looked at an attractive man too long, the specter of his long-dead father would remind him in no uncertain terms that John Winchester did not raise a faggot. He would push the negative thoughts away as soon as they cropped up, but it was a damn hard habit to shake.

 

But really, he was _fine_ , he just figured it was going to take him a little time to get over the bullshit he went through when he was younger. No big deal. But his little brother and his best friend—dynamic fucking duo they were—took it upon themselves to whisk him directly from the closet into the proverbial deep end. Fucking pains in his ass, and not even the kind he was just now admitting he sort of, maybe kinda wanted.

 

So after weeks of bugging and begging and cajoling, they finally wore him down enough to get him through the doors of what was certainly either Dean’s best dream or his worst nightmare.

 

As soon as they walked into the club Dean headed for the bar, Charlie and Sam trailing behind him like ducklings. It was only after three shots and another round of insistent nagging that Dean even turned toward the stage where there were three (admittedly very attractive) men in various costumes shaking their asses for the sizeable crowd of both men and women.

 

“Deeeeean. Let’s get a table closer to the stage! I can’t see from here!” Charlie whined, hanging off his arm.

 

“Charlie. You like girls.” He reminded her, looking over her head at Sam for help.

 

“So? Just ‘cause I don’t want to bring them home doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the balls it takes to shimmy around in a g-string for a bunch of strangers. Let’s go!”

 

What a crock of shit. He couldn’t even walk around with his shirt off when she was over without her squeaking some form of ‘eww, gross’ at him. It was nothing but a blatant ploy to shove him even further from his comfort zone, but when he threw a pleading look at his brother to help him out Sam just shrugged and smiled, getting up to bulldoze his giant ass through the crowd to the only empty table in the joint. Dean practically raised the bastard and this is what he gets. Goddamn traitor.

 

Dean groaned and let himself be dragged by the overeager redhead, noting that even the waiters were dressed up in costumes. There was a doctor, a fireman, a cowboy… Hell, Dean could even see a guy dressed up like a tax accountant or a businessman or something leaning against the wall by a door that presumably led to the VIP room.

 

The music switched, and a couple new dancers worked their way to the stage. Dean was slightly disappointed that Trenchcoat Guy wasn’t one of them. He couldn’t see much of the guy’s body under all those layers, but his face… Damn.

 

He was interrupted from a vivid daydream involving Trenchcoat Guy’s blue tie by a tall burly dude in a pirate getup laying his drink down. Pirate guy handed Sam a laminated menu and threw a wink at Dean, causing him to blush up to his ears, before sauntering away.

 

“Dean look! You can get a private dance with any of the dancers for a hundred bucks!” Sam exclaimed, thrusting the menu at him. Dean raised his arms and scooted his chair back, staring at his brother incredulously.

 

“Dude! I get that you're happy for me and all but I am still your brother. Shouldn’t you be at least a little grossed out by any of this?”

 

“Eh,” Sam shrugged, perusing the sticky sheet of plastic, “I’m more grossed out by you shoving half a cheeseburger in your face than the thought of you being, uh, _with_ anyone. You forget that I’ve unfortunately caught you in the act a time or five.” Dean knew Sam was just trying to make light of the situation, but the joking still left him on edge. If anyone ever walked in on him when he was with a _guy_ …

 

“Dean.” He was pulled from his thoughts by Sam’s massive paw on his shoulder. “It’s ok. Really. Not that it means much now that I’m married to Sarah, but I consider myself pansexual. I don’t fall in love based on gender. Remember Gabriel? He was more than my roommate, Dean. He was actually the one that recommended this place.”

 

“Holy shit! You and _Gabriel?_ Man, you have terrible taste in men.” Dean shuddered, remembering the short, obnoxious, candy addicted menace that practically lived in Sam’s pocket his first year at Stanford. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

 

“Well you know how dad was, and I figured… I mean, you were always so defensive and uncomfortable when we were around gay guys or people mistook us for a couple. Now I realize why, but I just didn’t want to risk you not being okay with it. Okay with _me_.”

 

Dean nodded, unable to come up with anything to say to that. It hurt that Sam didn’t think he could confide in Dean with something that important about himself, and he realized that he was effectively doing the same thing to Sam by pushing him away every time he tried to set him up with guys he knew or refusing to talk about why he still brought women home with him every once in a while.

 

Sometime during their little heart-to-heart Charlie must’ve slipped away, because she came back brandishing a little pink ticket a minute later, pressing it into Dean’s palm.

 

“The hell is this?”

 

“My early birthday gift to you, my loyal handmaiden. You just give that to whichever dude you like and he’ll take you to the back room and shake his junk at you… or whatever. Enjoy!”

 

“Charlie, no. No fucking way.” He tried to thrust the ticket back but she refused to take it.

 

“No refunds, Kirk. So get looking. You’re not leaving here until you get a face full of man-thong.”

 

“Jesus Charlie.” Sam groaned, matching Dean’s pained expression.

 

“What?! He needs to stop being such a big baby about it.”

 

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, the alcohol he already consumed making his skin too-hot and clammy. He would do it. Charlie was right, he needed to man up. He downed the rest of his whiskey and looked around, knowing exactly who he would use his ticket on.

 

Trenchcoat was back by the bar now, talking to the Pirate. He got up, and after a moments hesitation downed Sam’s drink as well, eliciting an indignant squawk. Charlie gave him a thumbs up as he walked purposefully to the back of the room, pink ticket clutched in his sweaty palm.

 

Every fiber in him screamed to turn around. He could feel his cheeks heat up and he hadn’t even talked to the guy yet. He pushed on, stopping just behind Trenchcoat.

 

He waited, shuffling his feet while he waited for the two men to finish their conversation, trying in vain to think of what to say. All too soon, Pirate looked over Trenchcoat’s shoulder and nodded in Dean’s direction.

 

Dean’s breath caught in his throat when Trenchcoat’s blue eyes fell upon him. _So fucking blue, Jesus Christ._ He felt like an amoeba under a magnifying glass, pinned down and squirming.

 

“Can I help you?” Trenchcoat asked. His voice rumbled like the impala’s engine, resonating in Dean’s bones.

 

He suppressed a shiver and held out the ticket, pressing it into the other man’s palm.

 

Trenchcoat looked at the ticket, then back at Dean, utter bewilderment clouding his features. Maybe he didn’t get asked for many private dances, though Dean couldn’t see why that might be. Sure the guy looked a little stern, but with the whole businessman outfit…

 

Pirate looked over Trenchcoat’s shoulder and guffawed, slapping the shorter man on the back.

 

“I don’t understand.” Trenchcoat frowned, looking between Dean and the Pirate.

 

Realization started to dawn upon Dean, and he wished fervently for the floor to just swallow him up right then and there. This guy wasn’t _dressed as_ a businessman, he probably _was_ a businessman and Dean just—

 

“Looks like this guy wants a lap dance from you, Cas. Whaddaya say? I’m sure Gabe wouldn’t mind letting y’all use the VIP room for a lil bit.” Pirate laughed again before picking up a tray laden with tumblers of whiskey and long stemmed martini glasses. He walked back to the tables, leaving Dean and Trenchcoat, er, _Cas_ alone.

 

Dean stammered out an apology and turned, looking to make a quick getaway before he died of embarrassment, when he felt a hand close around his bicep.

 

“Wait!” Dean turned back, and the confused look on the guy’s face turned into something almost shy. “Did you really… You find me attractive?”

 

“Dude. You're hot as _hell_.” Dean’s mouth supplied, with absolutely no permission from his brain.

 

“Well thank you, I suppose. I assume you gathered that I am not an exotic dancer. My brother owns this establishment. He has been trying to drag me here for ages.”

 

“Yeah, I know a little something about annoying brothers. I’m really sorry, by the way. I should’ve checked that you were actually a stripper first or something. I just saw you, and, well I guess I…” _Shut up! Shut up! What the fuck?!_

“It’s quite alright. I’m flattered that I caught your eye. My name is Castiel, by the way.”

 

“Dean.” He stuck out his hand to shake, and shuddered when Castiel’s palm met his. The man had nice hands, long fingered and lightly calloused. He couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like against his skin.

 

He didn’t realize that they had been frozen like that, staring with their hands clasped, until Pirate returned with a horrifyingly familiar man in tow.

 

“Heya Cassie! Deano! Long time no see. I see you’ve met my little bro.”

 

Dean looked at Cas, horror in his eyes. “ _Gabriel_ is your brother?!”

 

Castiel glared at the shorter man with enough venom to leave lesser men quaking in their boots. “Unfortunately.”

 

“Aww Cassie, don’t be like that. You know you love me. Besides, I can give you a lifetime supply of dirt on the poor bastard you're still clutching.” Gabriel looked pointedly at their hands, still stuck in the parody of a handshake. Dean pulled his hand back reluctantly, ears burning.

 

“How do you two know each other?” Castiel asked, blue eyes flitting suspiciously between Dean and his brother.

 

Dean was about to explain, but Gabriel beat him to it. “Remember Sammy? About fifteen feet tall, brown hair, body you could just—”

 

“Hey! That’s my little brother you skeeze!”

 

“Your brother?” Castiel asked, eyes glinting. Uh oh.

 

“Uhh, yes?”

 

“Sam was fond of talking about you. If anything he said is to be believed, you sound like a good man.”

 

“Well I dunno about that…” Dean blushed, rubbing the back of his neck. He was beginning to feel a little more sober, but surprisingly, the anxiety wasn’t returning with it. Cas was doing this strange thing where he wasn’t smiling, but he was, and Dean couldn’t help but grin back.

 

Gabriel cleared his throat loudly, interrupting another staring contest. “Alright you two! This is a house of sin and debauchery! I’ll not have you messing up the vibe with your disgustingly adorable puppy love googly eyes. I’ll have Benny here throw you out, I swear.”

 

“Gabriel. Don’t you have someone else to annoy?” Castiel growled.

 

“Not until 2:30.” Gabriel sing-songed, pushing his way between them to sit at a barstool.

 

“In that case, Dean, would you like to get out of here? I know a 24 hour diner down the street.”

 

“I thought you’d never ask.” Dean took back the crushed pink ticket and tossed it at Gabriel before taking Cas’s hand and towing him to the exit. Sam and Charlie could call a cab. Serves them right, the meddling jerks.

 

 

And later that night, when he was sleepy and stated and wrapped up in Cas’s arms, he didn’t even mind that Sam was blowing up his phone with texts making fun of him for hitting on a nerdy looking dude in a trenchcoat in a room full of strippers. At least he’d have a good story to tell if anyone asked how they met.

 

Besides, he wasn’t about to tell his little brother that Cas did end up giving him that lap dance after all. Or that he was damn good at it.

 

Some secrets were better left unsaid.

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Tried to think outside the box on this one because anything else I could think of had already been written. 
> 
> If you're looking for more Stripper Destiel and you haven't already, check out Have Love, Will Travel by sqeemonster. Lord have mercy *fans self*.


End file.
